Chapter 24. The "Thisbe" Approaches The Island...

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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE "THISBE" APPROACHES THE ISLAND--OLD DOULL'S REVELATIONS AS TO THE "OSTERLEY'S" PASSENGERS--THE FRIGATE PUT UNDER FRENCH COLOURS-- EXPEDITION IN THE BOATS--ATTACK ON THE FORTS--"OSTERLEY'S" PASSENGERS CARRIED OFF.

To return again to the "Thisbe" and rescued "Osterley." The frigate and Indiaman were once more hove-to, at a short distance from each other. In the far distance appeared a group of islands like blue hillocks rising out of the shining ocean. Volunteers from the frigate eagerly crowded on board the "Osterley," armed to the teeth. Morton had gained sufficient information from the old man to enable him to form a plan for rescuing the prisoners, should they be, as he trusted, still on the island. He had had frequent conversations with the elder Doull. One day the old man again referred to the abduction transaction in which he had been engaged in his youth. The similarity of the account to that Morton had heard of his father's history, struck him.

"Where was it? from what part of the coast did you take the child?" he asked, eagerly.

"Did I not say from Shetland?" replied the old man. "And what is strange, Lieutenant Morton, the boy's name was the same as yours; but maybe you know nothing of Shetland; it's a fine land anyhow, and you are too young to be the child I was speaking of."

"You are mistaken in one point, Mr Doull," said Morton. "I belong to Shetland; I was born and bred there; and I feel almost sure that the boy you carried off was my father. He was picked up at sea by a Captain Scarsdale, who brought him up as his son."

"Scarsdale!--now you speak it, that's the name of the master of the vessel who took us off the raft, and from whose ship we ran. For many a long year I have not thought of it. Yes, Andrew Scarsdale; and the boy was called Rolf Morton--the names come back to me as if I heard them but yesterday. There are not many other names I can remember which I knew at that time."

"But do you believe that that was the real name of the child?" asked Morton, for he had heard his father express his belief that the name he bore was not his true one.

"That I do not know," answered old Doull. "If it was not, the only one of us who knew the truth was our leader--the man who led us to commit the crime--that villain, Rolf Yell. It's many a year since I have spoken his name. Now I remember, he gave me a paper to Captain Scarsdale, and put his name to it, and we saw him do it; and we--that is, Archy Eagleshay and I did; and the captain put his name, and we put ours after that, though we didn't read the paper, but the captain said that it was all right, and that it was what he wanted, and he took it below; and so I supposed that it would make everything square for the poor boy."

This circumstantial account agreed so exactly with that which Captain Scarsdale had given his father, that Ronald had no doubt that he had found a clue which might lead to the solution of the mystery hanging over his early history.

What had become of the important document? Why had not Captain Scarsdale produced it? Yell, at all events, knew his father's real name, and he must have communicated it to Captain Scarsdale. He longed to meet his father, that he might give him the information he had received, and consult with him as to what steps it would be best for them to pursue.

Formerly he perhaps would have been very indifferent as to the result; now he could not help feeling that if it could be proved that he was of gentle blood, it might enable him the better to succeed in realising the bright visions in which he had of late been indulging. There might be a thousand obstacles in his path, but he felt that he could clear them all away by courage and perseverance, as he would a host of enemies with the strokes of his cutlass.

Such were the feelings with which Ronald Morton prepared for the attempt to rescue the passengers and crew of the "Osterley" from the hands of the Frenchmen. Old Doull had warned him of the difficulties to be encountered. He had described the dangers of the approach to the bay, the strength of the forts, and the number of the garrison. This of course only increased the anxiety of Morton and his followers to commence the work in hand.

While Morton was still forming his plan, old Doull, hat in hand, came aft.

"Captain Morton," he said, "my son Bob has been telling me how you have been kind to him, and stood by him ever since he came to sea, and I want to show you that my old heart, though it's pretty well scorched and dried up with the hard life I've led, can still feel thankful for favours done. At first I couldn't make Bob believe that I was his father, and no wonder, for an unnatural one I had been to him all his life; but I told him so many things about when he was a baby that he knows it now, and has taken to call me father, and that warms my heart and gives it such a pleasure I can't describe. After having had no one to care for me for better than twenty years, except old Archy Eagleshay--and I couldn't trust him over-much, 'specially if a cask of rum was in his way--it is a happiness to be called father--that it is, sir. I hope as how some day you will feel it. Well, sir, as I was saying, I was turning in my mind how I might serve you best. Now, I've been thinking that if we were to sail in with the ships, and attempt to take the forts by force, though we might and should succeed in the end, we might hurt some of the English people on shore, and that's what you wouldn't wish to do."

"No, indeed," said Ronald, shuddering. "That I would not, of course. But what do you propose?"

Ronald had discovered the uselessness of attempting to hurry the old man, so he waited patiently for his reply.

"Why, sir, I think if the ship was to run in just before dark under the French flag, the people on shore would fancy that she had been brought back for some reason or other, and very likely wouldn't board her that night. When it is dark I will go on shore and find my way to the huts of the prisoners. I will tell them that you have arrived to bring them off, and I think that I could manage to conduct them down by a path to the shore, so that the French sentries shall not see them. In that way, sir, they may be got on board without danger."

Morton was not satisfied with the whole of Doull's plan.

"You forget the risk the prisoners would run of being fired on by the French sentries, if found escaping; while, before the ship could leave the bay, the forts would open fire on her, and very probably injure some of them. However, I will think over your proposal, and I thank you for your anxiety to serve me."

Morton would rather have run in with both ships, reduced the forts, and carried off the prisoners in triumph, but caution as well as boldness, he knew well, were necessary to insure success. Captain Calder highly approved of the plan he ultimately laid before him.

All was ready on board the "Osterley." The boats were hoisted in; and while she ran on towards the land the frigate hauled her wind and stood off again.

The Indiaman rapidly approached the land. As she drew in with it the French ensign was hoisted at the peak. Job Truefitt looked up at it.

"It's the first time that I minds that I ever sailed under that buntin', and I would be sorry to see it often hoisted over my head," he observed to the elder Doull, pointing at it with his thumb half over his shoulder, and a contemptuous sneer on his lips. "I never loved them mounseers, and hopes I never may. They are to my mind the nat'ral born enemies, so to speak, of Englishmen, and it's my belief that they'll remain the same to the end of the world."

Doull was now summoned aft to pilot the ship among the reefs which surrounded the group of islands she was approaching. The wind had been faithful, and Morton managed so well that it was close upon sunset before the "Osterley" got inside the reefs. It would have been anxious work to carry a ship, in the uncertain light which still remained, among those numerous rocks and shoals, even with a friendly port in which to drop her anchor. Ronald, with the old man by his side, stood conning the ship, while two seamen with sharp eyes were placed at the end of the jib-boom, and others at the fore yardarms, to give notice of any danger they might discover.

"There'll be no use keeping the lead going, sir," said Old Doull. "You may get a cast of twenty fathom, and the next moment have the ship's bows hard and fast."

Ronald knew that this was the case, nor did it decrease his anxiety. Steady hands were at the helm. The seamen were at their stations to trim or shorten sail. The Indiaman glided onward. She was already inside the reefs, and the heaving motion of the ocean was no longer felt. Hills clothed with verdure rose close before them, the shore on either side, fringed with cocoa-nut trees, seen here and there over the yellow beach rising against the deep blue sky. The forts, too, could be made out, though thrown into shade in the centre of the landscape, as the ship, boldly guided by the old seaman to a berth, dropped her anchor. The carpenter had been busily employed all day in constructing a canoe. It was forthwith lowered noiselessly into the water, and Doull and his son stepping into it, paddled away to the shore, keeping, however, as far off as possible from the forts.

"That man can be trusted," observed Ronald to Glover, though the words implied a doubt of the fact.

"At all events we must trust him, sir," answered the midshipman; "that is very clear."

After waiting for some time, and no one appearing from the shore, the boats were lowered without noise into the water, and at once manned. By this time the dim outline of the shores of the bay could alone be seen. Morton took command of one, Glover of another, and the boatswain of the frigate of a third. Sims remained on board in charge of the ship. The Indiaman's boats followed with a midshipman in each, so that there were six altogether.

There were three forts, and it was arranged that two boats' crews should simultaneously attack each of them. The oars were muffled, and away the flotilla glided from the side of the big ship, as Glover observed to the midshipman with him, like a brood of new-born serpents sallying from their parents' side intent on mischief. Not a sound was heard on shore, not a sound either did the boats make as they glided over the smooth surface of the bay. Morton's mind misgave him. It seemed strange that no people from the shore had come off to the ship.

"Surely they must have seen her even through the gloom," he said to himself. "Can the Frenchman have left the place, and carried off the prisoners?"

The question was soon to be solved, but his impatience would scarcely brook the necessary delay. He had ascertained from Doull the direction of the huts where the English prisoners were located. Doull had also described the best landing-places under the forts. The boats, in three divisions, proceeded on their separate courses. The centre fort was the strongest. Ronald selected that for himself. His heart beat quick as he approached it. Who when going into action does not discover that his pulse beats more rapidly, even under ordinary circumstances? Ronald felt that the safety of one now dearer to him than life was involved in the success of his undertaking.

As the boats drew closer to the shore it was necessary to proceed more carefully, for fear of running on the rocks, which jutted out in certain parts of the bay. Though the surface of the bay was smooth, there was a slight surf on the shore, the noise of which, as it broke, tended to overpower any sound which the oars made as they dipped into the water.

Could the French garrisons be asleep? No sentry's challenge was heard on the walls. Perhaps, believing that it was unlikely an enemy should discover them, and impossible for one to approach at night, they had all, in fancied security, gone to rest; but then they must have seen the approach of the ship.

Ronald had promised to send up a rocket the instant the parapet was gained and the enemy aroused. A few more strokes, and the boats would reach the landing-place. Just then a loud hail came from the walls of the fort. Ronald answered, in French, "People from the captured Indiaman."

"Stay there," said the sentry, who had, it seemed, either been asleep or just come up to his post. This, however, was an order the English were not very likely to obey, so on they dashed as fast as possible, knowing that in another minute their purpose would be discovered. Leaping on shore, several carrying ladders, they rushed to the walls. At the same moment a rocket flew into the night air high above the heads of the combatants, to give notice to their comrades that the attack was begun. The ladders were placed in position, and up they climbed, in a way British seamen only can climb, each eager to be first, and yet one helping on the other in the noble race of honour. In vain the sentries and a few men left on guard rushed out to oppose the assailants, and shouted and bawled to their comrades to hurry to their assistance. A pistol bullet or the stroke of a cutlass silenced the voice of many a boasting Frenchman for ever.

The English had made good their footing in the fort, but before they had time to advance, they found themselves opposed by the whole garrison, who, though just awakened from sleep, surprised and bewildered, fought with the fury of desperation. They had, however, seized in the hurry and darkness the weapons which first came to hand, and many were but imperfectly armed. Now they were driven back--now more of the officers coming among them, they again rallied and stood bravely for a few minutes, but every foot of ground Morton and his followers gained they kept, and onward they fought their way. The pistol shots, and shouts, and cries from the other forts, and high above all, the true hearty English cheers to which the seamen gave vent, showed the enemy that they were attacked by no insignificant force. By whom they were attacked they probably could not tell, till those well-known cheers reached their ears. Still they bravely stood their ground.

"On, lads, on!" shouted Morton, laying about him with his cutlass more furiously than ever. He began to be afraid, from the pertinacity of the Frenchmen, that they expected reinforcements. Again the British seamen made a fierce charge; those of the enemy in the front rank were cut down or driven back upon their companions in the rear. They in their turn gave way, and the whole body of Frenchmen took a hurried flight across the fort, with the intention of escaping through the gate on the land side. This was what Morton was especially anxious they should not do. He dashed after them like a dog endeavouring to turn a flock of sheep. He and several of his followers reached the gate almost at the same moment, but not in time to stop them. Out dashed the Frenchmen, driving each other forward. The British seamen followed close upon their heels, cutting down those they could overtake, but they in their fall somewhat impeded the pursuers. Morton marked well the way they took. It was towards, he believed, the huts of the prisoners. He guessed what their purpose would be--on he went in hot haste. Once some of the fugitives, finding so few of their enemies close at their heels, stopped, and stood at bay. They had cause to repent their temerity. Three were brought to the ground by the edge of Ronald's cutlass, somewhat blunted as it was, while others, with severe wounds, again took to flight.

In the dark many of the pursuers and pursued were scattered, but Morton followed what he believed to be the main body. Suddenly cries and shrieks arose in front, and men's voices were heard shouting, and he thought he recognised that of old Doull and--yes, he was certain--that of Colonel Armytage. Among the female voices was one which thrilled through every nerve. Ronald rushing on, shouted to his men to collect them round him; in another instant he found the two Doulls and Colonel Armytage fiercely engaged with a party of the fugitives. His cutlass soon put the latter to flight.

"Where are the ladies?" he exclaimed; but he scarcely waited for an answer. He divined too well what had occurred.

"There! there! the scoundrels have carried them off towards the woods," cried Colonel Armytage.

In another instant Ronald was among the Frenchmen. Some of the men finding that with their burdens escape was impossible, let them go free, but others continued their flight. The cries of children and the shrieks of women resounded through the woods. Edda Armytage was still in the hands of the enemy. On rushed Morton; young Doull was by his side.

"There's some people with a lady, sir," he exclaimed, making a dash towards a path which led down a dell on one side. There were several men, and Ronald at that moment caught sight of a female dress among them. Morton's quick ear recognised Edda's voice.

"Oh, save me! save me!" she cried out.

The man who held her boldly came to the front, while his comrades retreated. Ronald's cutlass was upraised to strike, when the Frenchman placed his captive before him as a shield. The rest rallied round him, and Morton, with Doull alone by his side, found himself opposed to a dozen or more desperadoes, while he felt almost unnerved by seeing Miss Armytage in their power. His dread was that some stray shot or the careless stroke of a cutlass might injure her. All he could do was to keep at bay the rest of the Frenchmen, while he continued to summon his followers. They, however, it appeared, were skirmishing on either side, or rather following the retreating enemy in every direction. Ronald made the most desperate efforts to cut down some of his opponents, but each time that he appeared to be gaining a success the big Frenchman thrust himself before him. He had received one or two severe cuts, and was beginning to despair that help would come in time to prevent the Frenchman from escaping.

Edda had from the first recognised his voice, yet she dared not trust herself to address him by name. Still not for a moment did Ronald relax in his exertions. The Frenchmen had the advantage of knowing the ground, and they were evidently, Ronald conjectured, aiming at some particular spot, where they might hold out successfully. The path was steep, and numerous creepers of a tropical vegetation crossed it. In one of these the big Frenchman must have caught his foot; he stumbled, and before he could recover himself young Doull sprung like a tiger on his throat, and held him tight. The ruffian still attempted to retain his hold on Miss Armytage.

"You look after the others, sir--I can settle with this fellow," sung out the young seaman; but his officer thought more just then of saving the lady than of beating the enemy.

While the Frenchman was still paralysed with the vice-like clutch which Doull had taken of his throat, Ronald cast his arm round Edda, and forced her from his grasp.

"Hurra!" shouted Bob Doull, "I'll soon finish off the villain now."

He was as good as his word, for never for a moment relaxing his hold of the man's throat, he threw himself on him with such force, that he brought him to the ground; with his knee he kept down one of the man's arms, and with his left hand the other.

"I shall have done for him soon, sir," he shouted; "he's giving in, no fear."

What cared Ronald now for wounds, or for the enemies who were attacking him! Supporting Edda with one arm, he kept them back, and prevented them from rescuing their companion. Suddenly Bob Doull sprang to his feet, and laying about him with his cutlass, quickly put the rest of the Frenchmen to flight.

"Oh, Ronald, what happiness to be saved by you!" murmured Edda, scarcely conscious of what she was saying, as Morton, followed by Bob Doull, who kept a cautious look-out on every side, returned to the huts.

Those words revealed to him what he had scarcely dared to hope. He found old Doull severely hurt, while Colonel Armytage had been unable to follow, in consequence of his former wounds. He did not recognise Morton, but he expressed himself full of gratitude to the gallant officer who had been the means of rescuing his daughter. Mrs Armytage was soon afterwards conducted back to the huts; she, with the other ladies and children who had been earned off, having been rescued by another party of seamen. The remainder who had escaped, and hid themselves, now made their appearance; husbands and wives looking for each other, and mothers and nurses hunting for their children.

Glover and the boatswain now sent two midshipmen from the forts, to announce their capture, and to state that they had secured the garrisons. It was thought advisable, however, to get the ladies on board without delay.

Captain Winslow and the officers and the crew of the "Osterley," who had been hutted at a distance from the rest, on hearing the firing, had broken through the sentries, and hurried to the spot. Arms were put into their hands, and they were directed to hold the centre fort, while the passengers were once more conveyed on board.

Ronald would not entrust Edda to the care of any one, but had supported her on his arm till the boats were ready to embark the passengers; he now carefully placed her in one of them, with her mother, and other ladies, under charge of Colonel Armytage.

"I would that I could accompany you on board, but my duty keeps me on shore. I know not what number of the enemy may be on the island; they may rally and attack the forts: it is of the utmost consequence that they should be held by us till the ship is clear of the harbour: you and your companions will be safer on board than even within one of the forts. I trust by dawn to be on board, and to carry you off in safety from the scene of your captivity."

These words, which might have been spoken to any ordinary person, were heard by all, but the tone of voice and the gentle pressure of the hand were understood by her to whom they were addressed, and she whispered, that she was sure whatever he did was for the best.

As soon as the boats shoved off, Ronald went round to visit the forts. He found Glover and his party standing guard over the prisoners they had captured--a ragamuffin crew composed of natives of nearly every country in the world, and from their appearance Ronald had strong suspicions that they might deservedly be looked upon as pirates. In the other fort Mr Tarbot, the boatswain, had charge of a similar crew. They were very sulky, and as the light of the lanterns fell on their scowling countenances, Morton thought that they looked capable of committing any atrocity, and he felt grateful that Edda and her friends had been rescued from their power.

The sound which gave him the most satisfaction through the hours of darkness was the regular striking of the bell on board the Indiaman. It assured him that her people were on the alert, and that all was going on well. It was nearly dawn when, hearing a sentry hail, he hastened to the spot. "A friend," was the answer, and he recognised the voice of old Doull; he directed him to come into the fort, and he soon appeared with a companion, whom he introduced as Archy Eagleshay. The latter was a man very similar in age and appearance to Doull, though his countenance betokened far less acuteness and intelligence. Ronald was much relieved at the return of Doull. On many accounts he was anxious not to lose sight of him, and for the present it was specially important to have him on board the "Osterley," to take her out of the harbour through the intricate passages by which he had piloted her in.

At early dawn every one was astir. The former crew of the "Osterley" were employed in collecting all the property of the passengers, and in carrying it on board the ship, greatly to the satisfaction of its owners. Four seamen had fallen in the attack, and nearly twenty of the enemy. They were all hurriedly interred, friends and foes sleeping side by side on the shores of that lovely bay. The prisoners were next divided among the boats, and carried on board. Their company would gladly have been dispensed with, but Morton judged that it was the only safe way to break up this nest of hornets. The last thing that was done was to spike all the guns; some were simply dismounted, and others were tumbled over the parapet among the rocks. There was not time to do more, for Morton was anxious to get to sea and rejoin the frigate.

Once more the anchor of the "Osterley" was weighed, and with the wind off the land she stood out of the bay. _

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